in all this chaos, we find safety
by njckle
Summary: Surprisingly, Adrien enjoys being the bringer of destruction and misfortune.


"Art is not what I create / What I create is _chaos_ " - "Colors," Halsey

* * *

As Chat Noir, Adrien can't get enough of the devastation he causes.

Luck, especially that of the bad variety, was never something he had ever thought extensively about until he had met Plagg. The creature, with its feline features and sharp words, was an anomaly, a being made out of smoke and mirrors, solid in form, but evasive in the wreckage he causes in Adrien's life. With him, it's as easy as _claws out_ that Adrien's liberated, wrapped in a cocoon of shadows and given the freedom to make mistakes- under his father's rule, nothing ever went wrong and he had the best of the best. Though he supposes he considers it bad luck that he's prohibited from going to public school, from making friends. That it's bad luck that his life isn't his to control, but he figures there's nothing he can do about that.

Except, as Chat Noir, he _can_ do something.

As Chat Noir, he can taste the freedom chaos brings, he can accept bad luck with open arms, making it _his_ decision to be the essence of dark and destruction. With an ever-ready grin, he anticipates the new degree of discord he can cause that day, going against order and the presiding system he's been forced to live by for most of his life. And when he's able to go wild, with slitted eyes and teeth bared, and push the suit as far as it'll go, it's a sort of ecstasy.

The bad luck rolls off him, building within until he's about to combust in a whirlwind of shadows and boisterous whispers, but he never feels more alive as he does then. All it takes to experience this relief is a simple touch, hands curling around the cataclysm he's dipped his fingers in, racing down whatever unfortunate street he's on as destruction follows in his wake; buildings, made of stone and brick and cement, crack and fall apart when he drags his claws over their edges, singing along with the consonance the metal of cars and lampposts make as they screech and groan. He creates fissures in the ground with his fists, gaping chasms that widen and threaten to swallow anyone and anything whole, and the ground shatters under his touch, pieces jutting up while other fall.

He's a natural disaster, an earthquake that shakes the Earth, a uncontainable fire that consumes everything in its path, a tornado that rips everything from its roots. All that's left is him- a constant fixture that thrives in the shadows of a deteriorating world, a being of chaos that breathes in dust and poison, a beast whose heart beats in time with oblivion. Everything nondurable dissolves into rust and rot and, at that moment, he's invincible. No one controls him; he is his own master, the champion of his own story, the one who decides what does and doesn't remain.

He is Chat Noir.

Adrien- perfect, obedient, little Adrien who lives by laws and morals that aren't his own, he's never enjoyed the thought of decay, hating the repercussions of failure and the feeling of not being good enough. Chat Noir, now he's the one everyone has their eyes on, watching with bated breath as he topples a building or levels a street. To them bad is good and he can be him without having to actually be _him_ , can do something so simple as smashing a vase and the crowd will cheer and praise him, love him in a way that his father does not.

So he breaks and tears and rips, punches and kicks and slashes, fighting with everything he's got. He throws himself into battle, ignoring the cautious whispers that sound like all the adults in his life. Ironically, he likes to be surrounded by wreckage, feels safe despite all the risks he takes in pushing himself into a war that he never even knew existed. This game of good and evil needs a player, a knight who's not afraid to get a little dirty to win.

Who else is fit for the job as the bringer of misfortune if not a dutiful boy who can't so much as speak his mind?

In the end, he's always left standing amidst the ruin, ash and dust lingering in the air, breathing it in and letting it wash over him, and a sort of elation takes over because _he's the one who did this_ , who created this wreckage.

As Chat Noir, freedom comes hand-in-hand with the destruction, breaking his imaginary prison (along with bars and locks that aren't so imaginary), and Adrien escapes without hesitation.


End file.
